


Another World, Another Life

by Herald_of_Naamah



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angry Lavellan, Dorian might be part of the problem too, F/M, Moving On, Orlesians, Past Lavellan/Solas, Rejection, Smart Is The New Sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-06-10 17:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6967066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herald_of_Naamah/pseuds/Herald_of_Naamah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan has had it up to here with being rejected, and once the world is done ending maybe she will do something about that...</p><p>Starts after "the" scene with Solas and will likely continue post-Trespasser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exes and Ohs

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't hurt me for not working on Little Things! This plot bunny attacked me while I was stuck on it, and wouldn't let go. I haven't abandoned it just set it to the side for a short time...
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!

Veriel Lavellan was, quite frankly, tired of putting up with this shit.

Dorian's polite and restrained rejection she could handle. While she had been somewhat hopeful thanks to the receptiveness surrounding her flirtatious advances, once the truth did out she could only put it down to his masterful playing of a game so far above southern Thedas that it put Orlais itself to shame. The soft smiles, the 'accidental' brushes against her- all carefully choreographed to hide his most painful and dangerous secret. Yet he had also been apologetic, almost to the point of embarrassment, in explaining...

Veriel honestly believed that he had hurt her on accident, likely not even realizing he was returning her interest until it was brought to his attention. Dorian had that excuse, and an actual lack of interest in a romantic entanglement. So she accepted his wistful proclamation that in another life, maybe, he would not have found a relationship with her unpleasant. Knowing had allowed the unwilling Herald of Andraste to continue on to different interests and avenues.

Veri was unique among elves. In a world surrounded by hunters and storytellers, she had always dug deeper into the legends. It had always driven her Keeper crazy, the young elf constantly disappearing into the woods after some branch or the edge of a pendant, not to mention questioning every story...

"Never let the Dread Wolf catch your scent," Deshanna had proclaimed over the firelight when they were children. The others nodded sagely at the advice, or gasped in fear; Veri had been the one to cock her head to the side and ask why.

"We don't fear wolves," she had considered. "Their fur is warm, and they warn us away from humans."

Deshanna had sent the inquisitive child to her roll early, and even ten years later never answered the question.

Speaking of wolves...

Veriel took a deep breath, looking around her current location. She had opted to curl up in the rotunda on the couch Solas kept in the corner, the position acting tonight not as a comfort but as a dare for the area's typical occupant. The painted images of wolves and actions undertaken by their Inquisition practically swirled around her, but she barely noticed. Her nose was slapped into a book, her eyes peering over the top periodically as the silence of night began to give way to the bustle of the predawn preparations for the day. She hadn't slept, wouldn't sleep. Not tonight. Sleep itself was a painful reminder of another lost cause.

Another life. Another world. No difference, really. Veriel almost snorted as she realized how alike the two men in her life really were.

"Inquisitor, I... Oh. Oh my." Josephine's voice stopped, breaking as she saw Veriel's current state. The elf knew she was a bit disheveled- her tunic was loose, the belting keeping it fully in location out of place, and her usually fastidiously kept ponytail was falling out of its holder. She likely had run lines under her eyes from the kohl as well after last night, and without the gloss her lips must look dry and cracking. That wasn't even the biggest difference or issue, either.

"Yes, Josey?"

"I'm sorry, Inquisitor. It's just... your face..."

"I decided to try something different," Veriel managed in an even tone as she took a deep breath. "The valleslin- didn't mean what I thought it did."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

"I will be preparing a letter for Clan Lavellan about the practice," Veri continued quietly. "I may need an ear to assist with the wording. Could you see if Varric might be made available after lunch? I'm afraid there are a few things I need to attend to in the mean time."

"As you wish." The ambassador rushed out nearly in a panic, her discomfort obvious, and Veriel couldn't blame her. Every word was even, every tone clear, yet even she could hear the malice in her own voice. It coated every syllable.

Not malice. Contempt. Disdain.

"Another life." "Another world."

What was wrong with this reality?

What was wrong with HER?


	2. Chapter 2

If there was one thing that almost made the day brighten, it was the look on Vivienne's face when Veriel practically threw the new set of armor and dragon-bone staff at her with a belabored sigh. The mage had stared gape-mouthed at the Inquisitor for several minutes before consciously shutting her jaw and stretching her arms up in the air with a bemused sigh.

"Are you feeling well, dear? A cold maybe, or something from those infernal cats you insist on playing with?"

Veri closed her eyes, counting to ten. "I'm fine, Vivienne."

"I'm sure you have me mistaken with someone else," the Iron Lady ensured as she picked up the staff. Her fingers touched the enchanter's armor as well, a second of appreciation for the craftsmanship. "Certainly you don't mean for me to have these."

"I do," Veriel countered. "You will need them. We're heading out to the Wastes tomorrow."

Vivienne's face lifted in question. "I thought Solas..."

"Will no longer accompany me." The words were harsh, solid. They did not allow room for questions, and Vivienne wisely chose not to put any forth. "Are we quite clear?"

"As crystal, darling."

Weeks later, Veri smiled as she looked up and decided that THIS was the point that made heartbreak worthwhile. Vivienne was pitching her tent and awkwardly scoffing about the sheer amount of sand that had gotten caught in her clothing. The elven rogue smiled slightly and felt her body ease as Varric started the cook fire and Cassandra prepared the one meal she knew how to make: stew. Veriel was finishing setting up the tables and preparing for the rest of the scouts to arrive in the morning, but her ears flickered as she listened to Varric's crazy relation of his time in Kirkwall under the qunari. A smile actually graced her face, ease taking the stress from around her eyes down exponentially. She arched her back as she finished the prep work, looking around the fire as the other three settled in for the evening.

The next day left no room for falling into self pity. There was too much to see, and so many things that had to be taken care of near immediately. The venatori were an annoyance which was more easily put down as she went forward, and this land seemed filled with forgotten treasures. Her mind began to reel as she uncovered treasure after treasure, sifting through the shifting sands for all the misbegotten history she could find. She even managed to eradicate a dragon again, an activity that brought her no shortage of joy as she felt the adrenaline flood her senses. Vivienne stood unamused by the fiasco, but her other steadfast companions took it just as much in stride as they had every dragon before now. The evening tailed to another successful end, leaving the cool air flowing around them.

And as the travels came to a close, Veriel found herself remaining relaxed and less frustrated about the overall situation regarding her love life. Maybe, she thought, killing dragons and finding dwarven ruins was a substitute for emotional attachment...


	3. The Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crud! I've gotten carried away and... and...  
> Sorry.  
> I'll get back to a weekly posting schedule for everything shortly, promise. I just started a new position and it's been a bit hectic.
> 
> Yes it's short, but more coming very soon.

Veriel was wrapped up in the pages of her work, lost in missives and reports that threatened to drown her. She had set up camp in the War Room, the stack in the corner as she stood atop the map looking down at the markers and contemplating. She was mid-thought when the door opened and the last person she actually wanted to see entered the room. Solas at least had the good sense to look embarrassed at disturbing her, smudges of paint on his fingertips and a small blush on his cheeks. He seemed to think he was intruding, and she was willing to let him think that at least for a short time.

"My apologies, Inquisitor," he greeted. "I was unaware that you were still here."

Veriel made a show of sorts out of stepping around the markers and to the edge before making what she could only hope was a graceful descent. "Just viewing the lands," she explained casually. "Seeing what is left undone and making certain there are orders in place for after the battle ends. In case..." She let her hand twirl up in the air, cutting the sentence noncommittally and letting her lack of description speak for her.

There was a grim satisfaction at least of seeing his blush break way to concern, as though he wished he could combat her fears. He couldn't of course, but watching him fluster not to try was amusing.

"I should make my way out."

"No, I'm intruding."

"I'm finished anyway."

"No, this is your arena."

Veri took a deep breath and shook her head. "Solas. Stop. You've as much right as anyone to be here, and you don't have to turn away just because you see me here, regardless your reason." At that, her nose wrinkled. "What were you doing here anyway?"

He stalled, then lifted his hands to show the drying paint. "Chronicle hunting. The mural is nearly finished."

Veri nodded. "Tomorrow," she noted. "I plan on preparations tomorrow."

"So soon?" Solas asked, surprised.

"I would... appreciate another Mage in the group." She watched as he straightened, pride taking over as he readied himself to accept. Instead, she asked, "Can you take a moment to inform Vivienne she will be needed?"

His eyes fell, obviously deflated and a little crushed even as he confirmed, "Of course, Inquisitor."

She almost faltered. Veriel watched him walk out and sonar called to ask him be beside her on her battlefield, to use his barriers to hold her close and safe again. She craved the sensation, wanted it so badly. Instead, as he left, she returned to the missives in the corner and began penning responses, wondering who might be the one to pull the last letter she wrote....


	4. Pyronic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!  
> If you follow my other WIP, you know life hit hard, but that's little excuse.  
> I plan to update weekly until these two are complete and then move into another fandom for a bit- but this WILL be completed.
> 
> And now, OC entry...

Jean was not a man most would think of as a mage.

Of course that was part of the idea. As the son of an Orlesian nobleman, and part of high society himself, he was able to blend in seamlessly to most crowds in his homeland. So long as he kept to breeches and a tunic, a bland mask in most all cases, he could move almost freely through the nation.

It has been like this since he was a young boy. At ten, his abilities manifested in a swarm of flame and smoke. It wasn't his mother or even his father who aided him at first; it was a servant, his nanny- an elf with light valleslin in silver leading along her aging cheeks. She had held him close and cried before telling him to keep it secret between them. It was another month before his father spoke with him about it, explaining what magic was and that his life would be spent at least partially in lies. 

Now much older, Jean has become accustomed to the daily misguidance. Today he is walking through a small mountain town for example, heading east towards Fereldan in the hopes of not having to run anymore for once in his life. Because even now among strangers he is having to keep a part of himself hidden. The air is cold against his skin and he wants nothing more than to channel some of his natural mana for heat but the fear of it being recognized is too high to allow him to produce the comfort.

And that is really a shame. And, in his opinion, a problem.

"Here." The voice is that of a stranger, a small boy no more than 6 years, handing a threadbare blanket over. When Jean looks at him with a raised brow, the child adds, "You look cold, ser."

Jean forces a smile. "Thank you." His voice was almost as cool as the weather.

Sarnia. This place was called Sarnia, or something very like it. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that here, there was a link to an institution that was actually trying to do something. Maybe if he tried very hard he could be more than a spoiled rich boy hiding his abilities on one hand and practicing with the other. Maybe, just maybe, he could have a hand in the world.

It took a week in the chilled mountains before he was able to head to his true destination due to the weather: the Inquisition's foothold. His trek was lonely, though; he liked that, since it left him free to use his talents. When his parents discovered his ability he was afforded the best tutor silent money could buy after all, and so his arcane abilities had grown swiftly and perfectly. By his count, he would have passed an official Harrowing six times at least in his scant years, and the effects of those trials was near perfect control of his flame magic. Some excitement along the way proved his healing knowledge was apt as well.

When he arrived, Jean was surprised to find that the fortress was well attended and in top shape. He was confused until he heard the buzz that the Inquisitor herself was heading towards them for an evening on her way from the deserts in the far west home. Curious, he remained quietly in the sidelines hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman attempting to save the world. What he got instead was crowds and increasing inconvenience, a sensation that he was always in the way. And never quite able to view what he desired...

Veriel of Clan Lavellan.

Well no, that isn't quite right. Not anymore.

Yet no matter how he tries, Jean Devereaux cannot seem to meet with Inquisitor Lavellan, supposed Herald of Andraste.


	5. Chapter 5

When Variel came to her senses, she was alone. Not that this was much of a surprise, of course; she'd even come to expect it in some regards. Yet the moment filled her with a longing and dread that she wasn't quite willing to lend a voice to yet. Instead she buried it under her position, straightening her hair as she put in a fresh tunic and started down the stairs into Skyhold's main hall.

Since Corypheus was defeated, Skyhold felt much quieter. Without the threat of a world in turmoil it seemed the Inquisition- and indeed its Inquisitor- were not needed anymore. It was rather like being someone's shuffled off finery, an unfortunately all-too-familiar sensation in Vari's experiences lately. With a sigh, she moved away from the austere throne and down into the kitchens to find a simple cup of tea.

The room was quiet, filled with clean cook pots and pans. It was too early even for the bakers it seemed, so Vari continued to pour her cup and put in the leaves to steep on her own, basking in the cleansing scent and smiling lightly...

"Extra cup of that, my dear?"

Veriel looked up from her drink at the kindly voice. A few weeks ago, she would never had imagined Vivienne would be one of her most trusted friends; now, however, it was a true pleasure to see the older woman. The elvhen Inquisitor gave the enchantress a bright smile and pushed the kettle over. "Of course."

Vivienne inhaled the beverage slowly, savoring the heat and the scent with approval. "Elfroot?"

"Embrium root, actually," Veri clarified. "And a hint of vanilla."

"Ah. Vanilla." Vivienne clucked approvingly and sipped the warm liquid. "Superb, darling."

"Happy you approve, Madame de Fer."

There was a companionable silence that followed, neither of the women seemingly needing actual words as they finished their drinks. The sounds of early morning started drifting in; the head baker entered the kitchen, bleary-eyed, shuffling nervously as he saw the two women who had taken over a corner of his workspace. Amusement twinkled in Vivienne's eye as she made it a game of how uncomfortable she could make the poor man just by being in his place- especially as he couldn't say anything about it.

The two women chatted, ignoring the flour and dough that gathered around them. They spoke of the weather, of the Hold...

Of the future.

It hit Veri in a rush of a familiar emotion, wistfully and quietly whispering, "You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

Vivienne nodded slowly, taking a deep breath before responding. "I believe," she noted, "I have you to thank for that."

Veriel sighed, a slight nod as she finished her tea. Vivienne was returning to Orlais soon, now to be honored as the Divine- a choice that had been very much influenced by Veri's suggestions. The woman exuded confidence and had high goals for the future; it was only right she be given the platform to try her ideals. Even if it left Veriel on her own, now that her other friends had dispersed.

Veri choked down her comment, swallowing it with the tea, and stood. "If you will excuse me..."

Vivienne shook her head. "Stay, darling." Looking to the baker, putting a few loaves in the oven, she asked, "May a few moments be ours?"

The poor, suffering freeman servant took his leave of the two women quickly, knowing his time before the bread was ready. Veri sighed, ready for what she knew was coming: a half-hearted excuse, an apology, just like everyone else...

"Your pity party is not amusing, Inquisitor."

Veriel raised her eyebrows, head cocking in uncertain surprise. "Pardon?"

"You hold your disappointments close at heart as though you love them, dear. It is a sad thing to watch even if it does hold some fascination." Vivienne punctuated her words with a click of her tongue and purse of her lips. "You are a survivor who stays far too cognizant of what you lost. Besides, it isn't as though you're fully abandoned."

Veri sighed, the loud sound echoing through the kitchens. "How do you figure? Cullen? Leliana?" With a hollow giggle, she added, "Josephine?" Not that any of them were bad, per se, but calling any of them a friend was a true stretch.

"I was thinking Sera."

That only made the elf pause in silence, blinking in pervasive thought. "I..." She took a deep breath, choking on the air slightly. "I don't think that would work well."

Sera was a loyal individual yes, and friendly, but far too abrasive for Veri's liking. She got along better with Vivienne, with Cassandra, Varric...

With others she no longer wished to name, already gone about their own business.

Vivienne put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I will be at your disposal any time I can," she assured, "so do not think me blind. You need other company. No good you keeping bored or dour, after all."

Veriel sighed slightly. "I'll try, Viv."

"No. You will do." A harsh grin, nearly feral in its ferocity, passed the Iron Lady's face. "Tonight. At the tavern, such as it is. Meet someone, chat with them. Whatever it is you do, dear, you will start a new friendship if some sort. Tonight."


	6. Chapter 6

Jean Devereaux had made the journey from the cold mountain border into the heart of the Inquisition, arriving at Skyhold days after the defeat of Corypheus. He found himself fascinated by the role mages held here, allowing him to truly be himself. Yet his true delight was, admittedly, that even as a known mage he was able to take a drink in the local tavern. He was so used to hiding he even forgot it was acceptable sometimes to bear his staff- other times it sat proudly by his back while he took his ease here.

It took a while for him to notice the elven woman tonight, and had he been further into his cups he surely would have missed her. Her hair was a deep brown-red that made him think of cinnamon, and though the off white and brown garments hardly suited her he could tell they concealed a well-toned body. She seemed absolutely miserable to be socializing, scowling into a mug of something or another. But when she looks up and turned so he could get a better look, he was pleased: her face was unmarked, so not a Dalish, and she was rather pretty.

Clearing his tankard for courage, he sidled over to the new face and leaned over the seat beside her. "Too many people," he mentioned off-hand, letting his real opinion flow in a mumble as he gestured for another drink.

"That's an understatement," the pretty thing responded.

"There's a spot in the back..." Jean started.

The elf scoffed. "Showing our hand early, I take it?"

"Pardon?"

The woman chuckled half-heartedly. "You're supposed to try to woo me before taking me to bed, mage," she quipped, turning to look at him. "You're not half bad, actually."

"I don't mean to offend you with a bold offer." He gestured back to his still-empty table secreted in a corner. "But nobody much bothers me there."

"Oh." Her face colored, the cheeks a rosy pink that quite suited the woman. "I meant no offense, I just... I assumed..." She shook her head, the hair falling off her shoulders in a wave. "Forgive my obtuseness. Shall we start again?"

This time, the quiet man offered a hand in simple greeting. "My name is Jean."

The woman stumbled upon her words for a while, as though surprised by the offer of his name. Then her own hand stretched out as she smiled back. "Riel," she gave, nodding her acceptance. "You mentioned a corner?"

"I did."

It took a few hours to get Riel comfortable even away from the crowds. She let her stories fly, her tongue loosening. Jean was surprised to find she had grown up in a dalish clan, and asked about her lack of valleslin, but her only response was to call it a very long story. Once she was truly relaxed however she was more amenable, joking...

The next morning, when he awoke with the beautiful stranger tangled up with him in his bed, he was shocked to find that he was at ease as well.


	7. Chapter 7

Veriel rolled onto her back, eyes still shut against the light of the outside world. She whimpered quietly to feel arms wrap around her waist, beckoning her to snuggle in closer. She followed the direction of her bedmate with a sigh as all discomfort melted away into his touch...

"Riel?"

"Mmph?" Her unintelligible response was about all she could muster for the moment.

"I think you could use some new gloves."

Veri let one eye pop open in minor alarm. She had been covering the Scar, enjoying the secrecy and anonymity provided by the action. Jean hadn't questioned it in the weeks since they began this liaison- she didn't want the charade to end, but if it had fallen off or ripped there may be no choice...

"Oh haha."

Veri had been taking care to ensure her identity was hidden in part by keeping the Anchor covered- the biggest sign. Now she could see her mistake: it looked pretty strange when she was naked in someone's bed with nothing in but one right-handed glove on her left hand, obviously thrown on haphazardly after an error with the garment. Her eyes rolled at Jean's commentary.

"Hey!" The Orlesian's voice was indignant yet playful. "I just call it like I see it."

'Riel' let a smile push across her face, stretching as she exited the bed and turned her back. Fixing her glove, Veri began to pull the rest of her clothing back on and reached up in a luxurious stretch.

"What are your plans for today?" she asked, picking up her staff from beside the door.

"I believe that one of the mages from Orlais wanted to have me start a lecture on elvhen history," he sighed. "How I became the local expert is beyond me with an Inquisitor from the Clans."

Riel scoffed. "I've heard your talks. You have better understanding of the old tales than most Dalish- somehow."

Jean shuffled slightly. "It was... when I was a child..." He took a deep breath, scratching at an old wound that appeared in bright pink along his neck before scrunching his nose. "My family... was not exactly a quiet one in Orlais, Riel. I might have... been raised by servants."

"Oh." Riel's voice came over quietly in realization.

"The woman who raised me was a Dalish. From the Dirth, even. She had been captured as a teenager and pressed into service..." His voice faltered in discomfort.

"She was a slave."

"I won't deny that." Jean nodded, a heady sigh. "I... can we complete this discussion... after breakfast? Please?"

Veriel smiled to let him know it was alright, that she did not count it as a transgression. They headed to the downstairs of the tavern together, enjoying the light singing as they ate and headed into the gardens to share a quiet moment. Jean as usual did not comment- or maybe didn't notice- when the crowds parted for them as she moved through. They headed into an alcove beside the elfroot plants, her hands starting to tend to the vines as she watered and otherwise cared for the plants.

"So. This... servant..." Jean started, cautiously.

"Slave."

"...she was not just a slave," Jean started to explain. "My father's wife was unable to conceive, so he took the Dalish girl. He- didn't force anything, made her comfortable..."

Veriel blinked. "Oh," she whispered. "So she was your mother."

Jean nodded. "She didn't tell me until the day I set fire to her hair," he chuckled.

Riel closed her eyes in thought. She considered his admission, then simply put her gloved hand on his shoulder. "I bet she was very proud."

Jean opened his mouth to say something about her mocking him then met her eyes, seeing only sincerity. He reached for her hand again, squeezing slightly. "Thank you." He pulled it to his cheek, brushing against the fabric. "It always feels so strange."

"What does?" Veri fought the stiffness, the light panic welling up, watching him run his cheek against her hand.

"Your hand," he explained. "It tingles in the Fade, almost a beacon of sorts. You're sure you aren't a mage?"

Riel turned her head away, pulling herself far from his searching. "Yes."

"What is it then?" he challenged. "Because over these last two weeks, I've been feeling emotions I didn't even know I was capable of anymore and I desperately want... no, NEED to understand..."

Veriel let her head cock slightly. "Emotions? What..?"

"I know it's only been a couple weeks, but still... I can't help how I feel."

Veriel felt her breath catch. She'd imagined this moment, wanted it for so long, and now when she had it in front of her she felt a panic welling up in her heart and shoulders- the cramp, the uncertainty. "No," she whispered quietly.

"No what?" Jean challenged. "No emotions? No... love?"

"Love?"

"Did you not already know, Riel? I am... that is, it appears... I seem..." His voice faltered, looking up at her with caution as he slipped on what he wanted to say.

Veriel put a hand to his lips and slowly, ever so slowly, moved to remove her glove. The wash of green flowed from the Anchor, bright enough to almost blind; she pulled it away to give her partner a better view and saw him pale and frown. "Do you understand now?" she asked.

Jean looked, dumbfounded. "Is that... are you..?"

"I'm Veriel Lavellan," she admitted. "Inquisitor Veriel Lavellan."

Jean lit up, taking her opposite hand and gently pressing a kiss at the top. "It has been my greatest honor," he indicated, "to be allowed to fall in love with you, Veriel."

"Love." Veri whispered the word, smiling tightly. She closed her eyes to feel it, but instead felt her partner pull away with a release of her hand. She opened her eyes and saw him standing to move away. "Why?"

"Why what, exactly?"

"Why are you leaving?"

Jean paused there, turning back to her. "Did you not want me to, my love?"

There, Veriel realized, was the word again. "Do you... no, WHY would you love me?"

Jean simply chuckled in response. "Why wouldn't I? You are a unique individual, ma vhenan."

Vhenan. Veriel smiled, adding a single comment. "I don't want you to go."

He moved to her side, sitting down with a hand still clasped in his own. "Then I will stay," he promised, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Jean's pause as she exhaled did not go unnoticed, nor did his shift as he held her tightly. Veriel caught her breath and started to speak, but the words stalled in her throat. She instead curled into to his embrace and squeezed his hand...

She could not say she loved him. Prior wounds were to fresh, too deep, to admit that aloud so soon. Yet as she settled in his arms it was undeniable that was what she felt.


	8. Chapter 8

Veriel awoke wrapped in Jean's arms, the sensation of being with someone else still feeling new and... odd. She stretched out luxuriously in his embrace, careful not to wake him, and turned her head to see him.

Jean was an amazing man. He had more magical talent than she had expected for someone denied true training, after only a few months jumping his control leaps and bounds to be considered the foremost element mage they had available. His demeanor had been honed to care and understanding- which served both himself and she as his partner well in many areas. Most importantly he was willing and able to articulate his meaning as concisely as she never could- and he loved her.

If only she could say the same.

It wasn't that she didn't love him. Far from that, Veriel found herself fallen strongly for this half-human man, with his expressiveness and honesty. What she couldn't do was express that desire anymore. After Dorian, Solas... her heart and mind were far too scared.

"Jean?" Her voice was small, wavering. He moved slowly, turning so that when he woke his eyes met hers directly in a smile.

"Is it morning already?"

"Unfortunately so."

Jean shook his head, burying it once more in her side with a muffled, "I refuse to acknowledge the sun."

Veri chuckled as she moved, letting her clinging partner fall to the sheets as she stood from the bed. "Denial," she pointed out, "won't get us anywhere."

"What if I do it very, very strongly?"

Veriel chuckled as she threw a pillow she inadvertently brought with her at the man. "Nope," she proclaimed. "Daylight is relentless. But... I may... need some help." Her admittance was quiet, careful. Uncertain.

"How?" Jean sat up, stepping out of the bed and heading to where she had paused at the balcony.

"Dorian returned to Tevinter," she pointed out. "I do not begrudge that, he had much to speak about with his father. Vivienne had to report to Orlais. And Solas..." Here her voice wavered in frustration as she shook her head. "My inner circle is without mages. And I'm heading to what will likely be a tough area. With ice. An elemental practitioner would be useful."

Jean blinked. "You want me to come with you?"

Veriel nodded vigorously. "If it isn't too much trouble," she offered.

Jean's chuckle was a brilliant reply, exactly the sort of response she had desired. "Of course I'll come with you my love."

Because Jean can't quite tell, after all these months. Veriel can tell he is confused by the expressions that cross his face with every affectionate moment. His eyebrows furrow, the glimmer in that sweet brown dull a little more each time. He still holds her as tightly- maybe even tighter, each time he says he loves her and she fails to respond in kind.

Veri just wishes the words would exit her mouth.

Maybe "I want you by my side," will get it across. "Always." The way he holds her, she thinks it just may.


	9. Chapter 9

They are actually in the avvarian wilds of Orlais when it happens.

Amidst the freezing cold, they find the previous Inquisitor's lover, and Veriel cannot help but ask her questions. As she does a sense of longing fills her, eyes darting to her companions. Sera... Cassandra...

Jean.

"Is everything alright, Veri?" Jean asked, his voice soft to avoid being overheard. Veriel started to nod, then shook her head. The man, this man she felt for so strongly, squeezed her shoulder in understanding: they would talk about it later.

Later ended up being sooner than either imagined. When Hakkon beat his wings and blew, the icy clutches circling them, it was Jean who stood between Veriel and death. His flames burned around the battlefield, but nowhere more brightly than in the middle of where the dragon was squaring off against the rogue. Veri allowed herself a moment to watch him in action, inspired by his quick casting and confidence...

Then he was down.

Veriel ran to his side, using a lightening flask to speed her movements beyond normal. She saw Cassandra take another slash, Sera one last hack as the beast went down, but she barely noticed. "Jean," she whispered as she knelt at his side. "Jean, come on. Please. I..." Her throats closed up, then released as she moved her lips to his ear. Almost inaudible, she told him what finally broke from her mind into her mouth: "I love you."

Jean's eyes fluttered open in surprise as she wrapped her arms around him and said it again, this time while crying into his shoulder. "Is this... ok?" he asked, carefully, hands around her shoulder. "Are you ok?"

"I thought I lost you!" She buried her face again. "I almost... no, I... I love you! I don't care who knows it! I love you! I love you!" She broke down again, pulling harder, as Jean stroked her hair soothingly in slow circles.

"Calm down," he told her. "I'm not going anywhere."

It took several hours for them to get out and set up camp. When they did, Veriel was back to being attached to Jean's neck, wrapped around tightly. As they finished dinner and moved to the shared tent, she pulled herself onto his stomach as he lay beneath her and curled her head under his chin.

"I love you," she whispered again.

"You don't have to say it," Jean promised, looking down into her eyes. "Just because I love you..."

Veriel shuts his mouth by pressing her lips to his. "Jean." The name is a warning, a concern. "Did you think just because I couldn't say it I didn't feel it? I've loved you for a while now."

He paused in his thought process. "Have you?" It isn't an accusation, just absolute surprise.

Veriel blinked. She had thought her actions were enough, but obviously not. She saw the fear as she moved to see his face- truly see- and saw trepidation and uncertainty most prevalent. She held him again, closer now, and kissed him vehemently. When they both came up for air, she responded, "Since we first met."

"Then why..?"

"Fear mostly."

Understanding lights up Jean's face as he holds her close once again. "You don't need to be scared anymore," he promised, kissing her forehead. "You never will have to be again."

Veriel sleeps well that night, wrapped up I. The arms of someone who truly loves her, and that she lives in return. And as she takes the next few days to investigate the area with him at her side she sees him less skittish, less unsure of himself, and wonders that it took her this long to admit what she had known for so long.

It was nice to be in love.


	10. Chapter 10

Jean was not surprised to wake alone in bed. The air was cool through the mountains, the sun just coming up in the distance. He stretched as he rolled out and wandered to the balcony overlooking the mage tower. Veri was already there, shuddering under her blanket and grasping her arm tightly.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked gently, pulling his arms around her.

Veriel pulls her hand from under the blanket. A soft green glow emanates even with her glove in place, and when she pulls the garment off it sputters as she frowns at it. "Mildly, yes."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Veriel grasped his hand tightly, about to shake her head, when a sensation pulsed through both of them. She had always taken care to be gloved when touching him with the Anchored hand- until now. The green aether flickered in a current, enveloping the duo...

"Oh!" both exclaimed in tandem, eyes drifting to meet. Then, again as the sensation dimmed, "Oh."

Jean closed his eyes as memories of wolves in the woods came into his mind in a rush, hunts and campfires- loves and disappointments. He blinked back images of aravels, cold nights. A little sister was born a mage, no room in the clan and no clans nearby to foster the child, so mother left the clan in the dead of night to take her to the city where she could have a chance under an assumed name. Mother said she was safe with distant relatives, but there are whispers in the dead of night saying she was so scared that the child's magic went wild and Templars took her within moments.

There are other memories that flood Jean's mind: fear and uncertainty upon waking, amusement at being declared Herald of a figure she doesn't believe in.

And his stomach lurches. He doesn't even have time to curse before he hears the panicked crying beside him, his mind laid open before his lover- his past tumbling out not in the vague words he prefers but in raw emotion.

The smell of fire- a friend from age nine- blowing through the air harshly, filling his nose a decade later as the woman he loves screams from where two Templars hold her harshly. A moment ago her cries had been for him; now she begged to get away from him. She looked fearful in these last moments, uncertain and devastated. Jean reached a hand for hers- unable to control the flames as they arched to her. She fell, her final expression one of agony as the fire enveloped her body.

Jean flung himself out of his thoughts as he heard Veri whimper, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "It's ok," he assured. "It was a long time ago."

"I know," she managed. "It just felt so... real."

"It was."

Veriel nodded her understanding, shaking her head. Her hand drifted to her head, the opposite starting to flare in response to the stress...

Then Jean reached out with the fade, calming the tide. The Anchor responded by fizzling out.

"Hmm." Veriel watched approvingly. "That will come in handy."

Jean takes both Veri's hands in his, marveling at how the green glow ebbed. "Very handy," he conceded. "Maybe I can..."

"No."

She knows what he wants: to go with her to Orlais, where she will give up the Inquisition and then disappear so they can make a life together. But Orlais, for him, is too dangerous- too wild. His first love was a knight-commander's daughter, and he still has enemies among the ecclesiarchy in Val Royeaux. So she will do this on her own.

"Just come back to me," he whispered. "I need you."

And because she knows, because she plans on it, she buries her head in his shoulder and promises to come back safe and whole.


	11. Chapter 11

Veriel returned to Solas a very different person than she left in many ways.

Solas had not expected the independent fire in her eyes, nor her determination. She grasped the edge of her arm as the Anchor flared, defiant even as the obvious pain dropped her to her knees. The elf bent to her, reaching out to flinch as she pulled away.

"You don't get to touch me."

Solas blinked. All his confidence seemed to whither at the single movement and if Veriel wasn't so light headed from her current condition she would find it amusing. He still took a knee beside her, getting closer when she whimpered once again in pain. A furrow appeared on his brow as he concentrated on something as though it was absent. His confused expression made Veri laugh aloud in spite of the situation.

"Something finally confusing you, Harellan?"

"I..." The stammer was so uncharacteristic that it threw Lavellan a bit. "I believe so, yes."

She paused a moment as the pain receded. "You're having trouble feeling the Anchor, aren't you? Funny. If you had been a braver man you wouldn't be having this problem."

"Is that so?" He seemed incredulous and even a bit disbelieving that she would know something he did not.

She shook her head. "This mark..." She pulled her hand up, showing the glowing gash. "This mark is not yours. It... accepted someone else. Someone who cares for me."

Solas shook his head and grabbed for it both with magic and his hand only to find himself rejected. His mouth gaped at the control, the extent to which the mark had bonded to her.

And, it would seem, to another.

"Is it Dorian?" he asked, calmly. "He seems the type to meddle in greater things than is his right."

That got a laugh. "Dorian? No. And nobody would dare stand against you- until they do. This however was... more accidental..." Anything else she might have to say got lost in a cry of pain as the Anchor erupted again. "Can you help?" she asked when it ebbed, hopeful.

Solas shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Lavellan sighed. "Can't or won't?" she asked pointedly, struggling to her feet.

"Either. Both." Solas sighed irritably. "If I could take it back from you I would."

With that, Lavellan dragged herself to her feet. Wavering, she held her arm out. "Then," she begged, "take it."

"I told you, I cannot grasp the Anchor. If I could it would have been removed long ago, I assure you."

"Not the Anchor," Veriel corrected. "The arm."

Days later, when Veriel returned to Skyhold, she was greeted before she even left the carriage. It was Jean, unable to stop himself from throwing the door open and wrapping her in his arms. She didn't pretend, didn't hide- for the first time in the whole debacle, she let herself do what she felt.

She cried.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright- sorry for the shortness, but I just wanted to end cap here.  
> Enjoy the finale!

Knowing that it was over hurt.

Veriel Lavellan reviewed Skyhold, the last uncertainty taking over for a brief moment. She was in her balcony, looking over the tower and the courtyard. It was so much more barren now than she had seen it before, closer to its deserted state when they began than the great fortress it had become later. Yet the war was over, the might of the Inquisition waning regardless of her own desires or intentions. It had been time- but that didn't make it any less frustrating or irrationally unpleasant.

"Veri?" The calming hand or her shoulder brought Veriel back to reality, turning towards Jean with a smile. "It's almost time."

The look on Jean's face relieved Veriel's disappointment. He was concerned yet steady, the desire to aide still obvious in his eyes. He, for one, would stay by her. It made all of the nightmares and uncertainty clear- worthwhile.

"I'm ready," she stated, the simple statement actually feeling true.

The Inquisition was disbanding on her orders, quickly and precisely. It was a beautiful thing to watch- what had taken months to build was nearly separated fully within a week of her official proclamation at Skyhold. Some would remain on the Divine’s staff, others travel to join either the reformed Seekers or new spy organizations. Leliana has hand-picked only a dozen individuals to remain with them in truth, full members of the new order. The were liquid, and flexible, and wonderfully compact as an organization. Veri was proud.

Rebuilding would take months, years even, but it would be possible when the time came. Until then it would be a dormant thing, quiet and in the shadows.

“Together?” Jean asked, his voice low as he offered a hand.

Veriel put her hand in his and nodded. “Together,” she echoed. “Always.”


End file.
